


Making New Traditions.

by Celticas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint/Coulson Remix 2020, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticas/pseuds/Celticas
Summary: The official party was over, time to start their own.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46
Collections: 2020 ClintCoulson Remix: Quarantine Edition





	Making New Traditions.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Parties and Other Holiday Traditions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8258569) by [out_there](https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there). 
  * Inspired by [Parties and Other Holiday Traditions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8258569) by [out_there](https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there). 



Settling on the ratty purple couch with their sides pressed together from shoulder to ankle, Clint had put on the first disc of season one. They still disagreed on which was the best season and the only way to settle the argument was to watch them all.

Neither of them had a problem with that.

For the first two episodes, they hardly moved, pressing a little closer as time went on. Halfway through the third, Phil let his hand slide onto Clint’s knee. He could feel Clint’s sharp eyes glance at him and away. As the credits rolled, he slid the hand so that his fingers could run along the inseam, not moving any higher just letting his fingers travel back and forth along the inside of his knee. He could feel the sharp inhale as the other man was affected.

As the fourth episode played, his fingers moved gradually higher. Forward two steps, back one. His fingers had just snugged up against the hard bulge in Clint’s pants when the episode ended.

“Phil?” Clint squirmed in his seat. Trying to push closer to Phil’s hand and pull away at the same time, unsure of the end game.

“Hmm?” Phil didn’t take his eyes off the antics of Sgt Barkovski and Officer Waggins. Acting unconcerned, unaffected even as he could feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest.

“What’cha doin’?” Clint had made his decision, pressing closer to Phil’s side and canting his hips a fraction, the move making Phil’s hand slip into full contact with his groin.

Phil could feel the throbbing heat through the thick denim. “What does it look like I’m doing Hawkeye?” He couldn’t stop the smirk that had been threatening to overtake his face.

“I, um.” Clint had to stop to clear his throat when Phil squeezed gently. “I thought you weren’t going to sleep with me on Christmaa…”

Phil squeezed again, pushing the palm of his hand into the bulge. Perfectly timed to cut off the end of the question with a long, needy moan.

“Not Christmas. The Christmas  _ party _ .” Years of SHIELD training to be able to appear unaffected came in very handy. His voice was even and while his own dick was throbbing in his pants, pressed against the zipper, his hands didn’t shake.

“Oh.” Clint breathed. “Bed?”

Phil stood, offering a hand to help Clint up.

He accepted but made no move to stand. Instead, pulling Phil around and closer until he was standing in the wide vee of Clint’s legs. The position put Clint’s nose almost in contact with Phil’s clothed cock.

Clint’s callused, roughened hands moved. One going to Phil’s hip to hold him steady. The other made quick work of Phil’s belt and fly. He let the pants drop until they were sitting around Phil’s ankles, his hungry eyes on the bobbing purple head of Phil’s cock.

Phil watched, mesmerised as a pink tongue flicked out to lick wind-chapped lips before Clint moved, mouth opening wide to suck Phil down in one long, warm move. Phil felt the end of his dick nudge the back of Clint’s throat and thought he would stop moving down around him and start sucking, but he kept goingdeeper until his face was nuzzled up against the thick wiry hair around his root.

“Oh god.” It was Phil’s turn to moan brokenly.

Unknowingly, Phil’s hand drifted up to sit at the juncture of Clint’s neck and shoulder, his thumb rubbing against Clint’s throat, feeling the taut skin and muscles that had opened to allow him in, holding him gently. He could feel the outline of himself.

Clint swallowed.

“Oh god.”

Phil had forgotten the hand still on his hip, his legendary focus had narrowed down to the tight warmth surrounding him. The fingers on his hip urged him forward. Those last few millimetres were everything. Clint’s nose breathing in the scent of him, his bottom lip nudging his balls. Pulling back a fraction, he thrust forward again.

And again.

The hand on his hip moved. Rough fingers grazing over the plug Phil had put in before coming over. His fingers tracing the skin stretched around the cool glass.

Clint pulled off him, licking up the length of Phil’s cock as he went. His wide eyes gazed up at him in wonder before plunging back down. His moan vibrating up into the pit of Phil’s stomach as his clever fingers twisted the glass inside him.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, his thrusts lost the rhythm that he had started. On each backward movement, Clint’s finger pushed the glass in a little deeper.

His unerring aim, the glass pressed into Phil’s prostate at the exact same moment Clint swallowed again.

It was too much.

With a shudder Phil let go. Pulsing orgasm rolling through his whole body. Clint swallowing everything Phil was giving him. Slumping forward, Phil cradled Clint’s head as he struggled to stay on his feet, his head on Clint’s shoulder.

Clint let Phil drop from his mouth, but licked up his softening cock, cleaning up the last traces of Phil’s release that he hadn’t already swallowed.

“Holy shit.” Phil breathed out.

Placing a smacking kiss on the skin of the joint between Phil’s leg and groin. “Come here.” He maneuvered them into a new position, Phil laying along the sofa with Clint wedged between him and the sofa back.

He felt a little ridiculous laying there with his pants around his ankles and his shirt and tie still on. Behind him, Clint was pressing kisses to his neck and behind his ear, nipping at the lobe when he got close enough. Phil could feel the hard length of Clint’s arousal pressing against his ass and the wide glass plug still inside him.

Shifting back, he lined them up. Clint slotting into the cleft of Phil’s ass. Moving slowly, tilting his hips up and down, he felt the change in Clint’s breathing.

The night hadn’t gone exactly as he had planned, but it wasn’t over yet and it was Phil’s turn to take Clint apart.

“Didn’t make it to the bed.” Phil observed.

“Not yet.”

He could  _ hear _ the smirk in Clint’s voice. 

“No, not yet.” He slipped a hand between them. Unbuttoning Clint’s pants and pushed them down enough to take Clint in hand. Twisting his wrist, he squeezed slightly and moved his hand up and down the not inconsiderable length.

Phil had seen Clint naked before. During a rescue from a terrorist cell, in decontamination showers, and one unforgettable incident in Helsinki that they had both sworn to never mention again but had crept into Phil’s fantasies on more than one occasion.

Letting go of Clint for a second, he worked the plug out, letting it drop onto a shirt Clint had left on the floor beside the sofa at some point. Moving slightly, he lined Clint up and pressed back. Impaling himself on Clint.

“Phil?” Clint stopped him with an immovable hand.

“Clint?” He wasn’t sure why Clint was stopping them.

“Lube. Condom.”

Phil could tell the other man was barely holding onto a single thought. But the worry for Phil’s safety was touching. Unneeded, but touching. He had come over with a plan and was well prepped to take anything Clint wanted to give him and they were both clean. SHIELD tested them all regularly and after every mission.

“It’s okay.”

“No.”

Phil pulled forward and away, twisting half around in a move that was highly uncomfortable on the thin sofa so that he could look Clint in the face.

“Okay. If you don’t want to we don’t have to.” He would never pressure Clint, or anyone else, into something he didn’t want.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Come on. Bed.” Clint gently shoved at Phil until he rolled off and up. His reflexes had him standing without thought, Clint a microsecond behind him.

Stepping out of his jeans, and stripping off his shirt, Clint led the way up the stairs to his bedroom naked. Golden skin moving over work-strengthened muscles making Phil’s mouth water. He wanted to lick every part of that body, and he thought he was allowed to now. Hopefully.

“Are you coming?” Clint asked, leaning over the railing to look at him. The position perfectly framed his long legs and curving erection between the wooden rungs.

Licking his own lips, Phil stepped out of his own pants, stopping to pull off his socks, and unbuttoned his shirt as he went. His tie ended up on the bottom newel cap and his shirt halfway up the stairs.

Clint had moved, sitting against the bedhead, bottle of lube on the bed beside him and a condom already on, his hand slowly pumping his cock.

“You looking for a good time?” Clint asked, voice 80s porno deep and cheesy.

Snorting a laugh Phil quickly moved across the small room, dropping to his knees on the mattress and shuffled forward until he could capture Clint’s reddened lips. He could taste himself on Clint’s tongue, a salty musk. He positioned himself and slid home. Clint filled him up, the same way Phil had filled Clint. Completely.

For long minutes they stilled. Each of them focused on that single point of contact between them. Phil could feel the throbbing heat of Clint. Breathing deep, he shifted his hips forward, making Clint groan low in his chest, the sound almost sub-vocal. The part of Phil’s brain that was always siloed off from the rest of his mind, unaffected by whatever was going on, snidely observed that while extremely satisfying, it would have been even better had he been ten or even just five years younger and able to join in the fun so close to having lost it already.

“Move.” Clint demanded.

After the first shift, Phil had stopped again to yell at his own mind.

Clint followed the demand with a sharp shift, pressing himself closer, deeper. It sparked the need to move in Phil. Setting a punishing pace, he pulled himself almost the whole way off Clint and slammed himself back down.

Hands braced on either side of Clint’s shoulders, his knuckles were white from gripping the wooden headboard. The slap of skin and the slam of wood against the wall set up a steady tattoo.

Clint met him with equal intensity. One hand wrapped around Phil’s hip, and the other roving over his sweat slicked skin. Stopping to flick a nipple or scratch through Phil’s hair. Hand moving constantly. The thrust of his hips to meet Phil had him rubbing over the delicious bundle of nerves deep inside.

He wouldn’t have believed it was possible, but Clint had him half-hard and leaking again. Small spurts of milky white dribbling down his length.

Clint’s free hand swept down, thumb rubbing the cum down around him, smoothing the way for him to start lazily pumping.

Once again Phil had lost control to a spiralling downward pull of pleasure. Changing their rhythm suddenly, he kept Clint fully encased and began shifting forward and back. He could only move a small way, grinding himself down. Pealing one hand from the wood, he reached down behind himself and gently took Clint’s balls in hand. Rolling them, pressing and stretching the skin between them, and then letting them just sit in his hand while his thumb pressed into the perineum at the same time he shifted as far forward and down as he was able.

With a shout, Clint let go, cuming in Phil in long pulses of warmth…

“Holy shit Phil,” Clint asked breathless. His hands still on Phil, burning points of contact.

Cautiously moving forward, he lay along Clint’s chest, putting his face at the perfect distance to press a gentle kiss to Clint’s lips while still keeping his softening cock inside himself.

He hummed his agreement, unable to talk or even keep his eyes open. He could feel Clint shifting them so they were laying flat but were still intertwined.

Words were whispered against his neck, a breath of sound that might have been half-imagined as he slipped into sleep. “Sleep, love.” 


End file.
